What I Feel
by N7Dragon5
Summary: After losing-or rather, giving up-Hawke, Fenris is a little conflicted with how he wants to go on, if he should at all. R&R please!
1. The Feeling of Death

_"_He seems less a manto me than a wild dog_."_

"Perhaps that is because too many men have told him that, and now he believes them_."_

* * *

I believe this is what death feels like.

The silence, the emptiness, the refusal to see anything but what made you die in the first place… If I am correct, which I believe I am, then I am dead. At least on the inside.

She believes I did not turn back when I left. She believes I did not look at her, did not _want_ to look at her. That isn't true, though. As I walked out the door, that bedroom door that seemed to seal our fates forever, forced them to ever intertwine, I looked back, and I looked at her. I turned my head just enough to see her, not enough for her to notice, but just enough to see that her expression had changed. During the act, the one that caused such a high feeling of confliction within me, among other sensations, her expression was one of hunger, longing, the raw essence of desire itself. In a way, that's what it was when I looked back. But there was sadness there, too. A look that said "Please, don't go. Convince yourself to stay, won't you?". But I didn't. I didn't want to, didn't think I had to, so I didn't. It was a very simple act, yet the most difficult one of my life.

I have become lesser. Colors no longer seem as vibrant—as if they ever were "vibrant" in Kirkwall—and the sounds around me are quieter, more muted. I hang my head lower than I used to, swing my blade with half strength. The wine I used to enjoy so much no longer has its strong taste. I barely want to continue living, if I'm alive at all. I still do not think that I am. If this is what death is, I do not enjoy the feeling. But I don't know how to live again. No, that is a lie—the truth is, I don't know if I _deserve_ to live again. Do I? I don't think I do. I have done too much to not deserve life. I hope everyone hates me. I hope _Hawke_ hates me. It is…better that way, is it not? If she hates me, I can't hurt her more than I have. Yes, it's definitely better. Perhaps she likes it that way. But…I don't. I don't like it that way.

Anders now stares daggers sharper than Isabela's into my soul. He knows what I did. I don't know how—I certainly never told anyone, and I doubt Hawke did—but he knows nonetheless. He wants my blood more now, more than before. Now, I think he literally wants me dead for what I did to Hawke. I think I'd deserve it, too. I sort of hope he will finally snap, finally do what he has appeared to want for so long. I would welcome it.

I see her face every day. It places a pain inside of me, directly in my core that makes me feel like my heart is going to explode. Despite the fact that I took her heart and threw it on the ground, she still takes me with her all the time. She never goes anywhere without me. Usually, that would make me angry, make me feel like a living possession. But it's _her_ that owns me, so I no longer mind. I am not a possession in her eyes. I am a person, a man, one who would have been called "love" if I hadn't…

I cannot think that way. I cannot think about the future that might have been.

I wonder if she feels dead, too. I would never wish that upon her, but I wonder if it happened anyway. She does not deserve death. I do, she does not. I do not deserve her affection, her…love. But for whatever reason, on the night I ruined, I had it. I had it in my hand, my silver, bloodstained, clawed hand, and I crushed it. I wonder if it survived in her somehow. I wonder if she held some back in case something happened, and that's why she still looks at me the way she does—damn those perfect blue eyes of hers. I don't know. All I know: I have smashed most of her love, and now, I deserve nothing short of death. Nothing short of an eternity in the Void itself.

And, being one who has done what I have, I would welcome it, because I'm still a slave. I'll always be a slave. At this point, though, I think I'm okay with that, because I am Hawke's. She controls me, but I cannot control myself. That's the way it should be, apparently according to the universe. I always belong to someone.

Might as well be her.


	2. The Feeling of Longing

One thing I remember clearly: Hawke's mother had just died—because of magic, I might add—and I had no idea what to say. She wanted me to say something, so I made a horrible attempt at doing so, sitting on her bed next to her. She actually laughed in spite of the tears I saw in her eyes, saying my words only raised questions. I shrugged, saying even I didn't really know the meaning of what I had just said, then explaining how pointless I thought it was to fill moments like that with such empty talk.

We sat in silence for a long while, listening to her dog's barking. The animal almost sounded saddened as well, and I could hear Bodahn consoling his son and the dog at the same time. I dug my fingers into the sheets of the bed, remembering what they felt like against my skin, remembering what _she_ felt like against my skin. I closed my eyes tightly to remove those thoughts, then opened them again to find a weight around my neck and shoulders.

I looked down and saw Hawke's arms around me, holding me so tightly I could feel her heart beating, could feel the tears she let slip seeping into my collar. I didn't know what to do. I just sat there, paralyzed and wondering if I should just get up and leave, until she spoke, her voice strained and choked from the urge to sob into my shoulder.

"Thank you so much, Fenris." Baffled, I said nothing. "Thank you for everything." Finding the strength and senses to move again, I shifted in my place, turning to face her, and I wrapped my arms around her. It was a simple gesture, but my heart still ended up in my throat. It felt like an eternity since I'd held her that close to me, since we held each other that closely.

I still didn't say anything. I wanted to say something more than anything, but I couldn't find the right words.

We simply sat there, hugging each other in silence. I want to lift her chin up and make her look at me, then lean in and press my mouth against hers. I wanted to feel her lips on mine, taste her tongue in my mouth. But I didn't. I couldn't, and I didn't have the courage to try. But in that moment, the moment I prayed would last forever, feeling her warmth against my chest and swirling around my body, I felt alive again. The feeling of death that had shielded my eyes for so long lifted for a while, and I could have sworn I actually felt my heart beat inside my chest.


End file.
